Suicide is Painless
by Iellix
Summary: ...It brings on many changes. And I can take or leave it if I please... Oneshot, songfic; post-HBP. Harry muses on the terrible changes in his life, and the things he could do in response to them.


I am a woman with urges. My urges tend to be more artistic than sexual, and this happens to be one of the artistic ones. I've never written for this section before, nor do I plan ever again to. But see… this idea was far too good to pass up. And I can't say no to a muse who's been giving me ideas so sparingly lately. The song fits Harry's situation post HBP… or it seems so to me. Regardless of weddings and pseudo-happiness. So I write. The few who may read this, I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter. Songwriter John Mandel owns this song, "Suicide Is Painless," which is the theme song to the television serial MASH. (Yes, that song has words to it. You learn something new every day, don't you?) I own my computer and about thirty-nine cents and two pounds in sterling somewhere buried in my room.

0…0…0…0…0

…_Through early morning fog I see_

…_Visions of the things to be_

…_The pain that is withheld for me_

…_I realize and I can see_

…_That Suicide is painless_

…_It brings on many changes_

…_And I can take or leave it if I please._

I wish I could go back in time. Back before everything went horrid. Back before people started dying for no reason. Back before people I love were, one by one, plucked from me. I'd have to go back a good fifteen years. Then my parents would be alive and maybe things would be different.

Or maybe they wouldn't be. Who can tell? I'm not sure of anything anymore. Everything I'd ever believed has been thrown to the wind. Dumbledore's been thrown to the wind. He's just another on a long list of casualties I've seen in my life.

But Dumbledore is different. Different than Cedric Diggory, different than even Sirius or my parents. Dumbledore was a constant. We all thought he would be here forever. He was what made us feel safe—a security blanket shared by thousands of people, students and staff alike. The one reason that Lord Voldemort stayed clear of Hogwarts, the one reason that the school stayed open through thick and thicker. The only wizard that Voldemort had ever feared.

But Dumbledore is gone, now.

And what makes it all worse is that it's just the beginning. The end is nowhere near… or else getting to the end will seem a lot longer than anything ever has before. The end… but the end of what? The end of who? One of us will kill the other. It has to be done. But I won't know who is who, not up until it happens. And maybe then I might not even realize it.

Somewhere in the back of my mind is an evil little voice. I know that no evil wizard is saying nasty things to me in the back of my head, because I recognize these thoughts as my own. But that doesn't make it any more comforting. Actually, it makes it worse.

The little voice keeps taunting, "Welcome to Hell."

And I know it's telling the truth.

…_Try and find a way to make_

…_All of our little joys relate_

…_Without that ever-present hate_

…_But now I know that it's too late_

…_And Suicide is painless_

…_It brings on many changes_

…_And I can take or leave it if I please._

Despite the little "good" things that keep popping up, the prospect of the future seems grim. While Bill and Fleur are getting married, the wedding will only be second on everybody's minds. The first thing everyone will think of is Voldemort. Other people will get married, as well. Babies will be born. Little victories will happen all over the wizarding world. But the foremost thought will be Voldemort, until the end of time, or until he's destroyed. Whatever comes first.

Even though I'm dead-set determined to end it all, I'm still terrified. Of course I'll never tell anybody else that. Ron and Hermione already know, I bet. Even though I haven't said anything. They can smell it on me. Or something. But they say nothing. They know I have enough on my mind as it is, and they have more than enough to deal with at the moment as well. Everybody is too busy wallowing in total disbelief to pay attention to what's going on around them. At the moment, I'm sure an elephant tapdancing on a flagpole would go completely unnoticed.

I'll keep it that way. I don't need an entourage following me to Voldemort's Horcruxes. I don't even want Ron and Hermione to come with me, but I don't think there's a spell in the world that could keep them from coming.

And no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I hold this unforgivable grudge against the universe. It keeps ripping bits of me away. Bit by bit by bit, until there's nothing left. I imagine being nibbled to death by ducks is something like this. And I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. _Hate_ is the only thing I can think of. If I thought nobody could hear me, I would scream. But that would just be a silly waste of my energy. And I'll be needing all of it for later anyway.

…_The game of life is hard to play_

…_I'm going to lose it, anyway_

…_The losing card I'll someday play_

…_So this is all I have to say_

…_That Suicide is painless_

…_It brings on many changes_

…_And I can take or leave it if I please._

Maybe I'm just biding my time. Maybe I'm just stalling. Maybe I'm in denial. Maybe I know that this is it for me. Maybe it's a little more than doubt that I won't win this last fight. It could be a premonition, although I've never actually been very good with Divination. But if there's one thing I've learned, one _useful_ thing, that I can turn to if nothing else, it's this: trust your gut instinct. But right now my gut instinct isn't saying anything I want to hear.

Maybe I'm destined to lose. This hero game is too hard to win. Everybody is looking to me, looking to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One.

I'm going after Voldemort, like he's going after me. Bit by bit by bit. Horcrux by Horcrux by Horcrux. Until there's nothing left. Until he's just a shadow. Until I can face him in a fair fight—mortal man against mortal man. That's what I have to do. That's what I decided I would do as soon as I could think straight, think something other than, "He's dead."

The next time Lord Voldemort meets Harry Potter, it will be a fair fight. He won't be able to cheat anymore. It will just be the one of him. Nothing more.

Somehow this final battle with Voldemort seems easier. Thinking of it this way makes it seem more feasible. Like I could actually do it.

But the hard bit is now to find all of _his_ bits and destroy them. I keep saying it to myself over and over again. The locket, the cup, the snake, something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Maybe I should nix the locket. R.A.B destroyed it. Or I hope he did. Or she, as Hermione would probably protest. Whoever R.A.B is, I would like to have a word with. I think he's partly responsible for Dumbledore dying. Maybe if he hadn't been so weak he might have fought back… maybe, maybe.

I think I should stop with the "maybes." Thinking about what _might've_ happened won't get me anywhere. It's already been done. I need to focus on the task at hand.

…_The only way to win is cheat_

…_And lay it down before I'm beat_

…_And to another give a seat_

…_For that's the only painless feat_

…'_Cause Suicide is painless_

…_It brings on many changes_

…_And I can take or leave it if I please._

I can't say the thought hasn't ever crossed my mind before. It crosses my mind often, actually. Back and forth. The thought taunts me. Sometimes it's tempting—other times it completely repulses me. Lately the idea is more tempting than anything else.

I could do it, though. Quickly. Painlessly. Nobody would be the wiser. Nobody would know until it was all over. I wouldn't even need magic to do it. Just a knife, a shard of glass, some poison… I'm sure I could get a hold of a revolver in the Muggle world and I could use that. Then I could be with my parents again. With Sirius. With Dumbledore.

I _could_ do it. Part of me, a really sickeningly cowardly part, really wants to do it. But I won't do it. I would be leaving a mess behind me and I don't like to think what my friends would think of me if I did do it. Just imagine how angry people are that Dumbledore died, and it wasn't even his fault. If Harry Potter died, _at his own hand,_ people would hate me. I'd be facing ridicule and hate and scorn from the grave. I just can't win. Unless I cheated, which, at the moment, I can't think of a way to do in this situation.

And besides, if I die, then he wins. There won't be anybody else to fight him. Nothing will stand in the way of his plans for universal magical domination with a cherry on top, or whatever it is that Voldemort wants.

The only sensible—if it could even be called "sensible"—thing for me to do is defeat Voldemort. But maybe I'll be lucky and die while defeating him. That way everybody gets what they want. The wizarding world would be happy because Voldemort is dead. I would probably be glad to be rid of it all. Everybody's happy. Except for Voldemort, who probably didn't envision himself being destroyed again by the same person. Actually, that thought gives me a sort of wicked glee, just at the embarrassment he'll feel when I defeat him.

When.

I stopped wondering if I could do it. I guess I just won't let myself _not_ do it. That's not an option for me anymore. I don't think it ever _was _an option for me. Voldemort chose me, Harry Potter, to match him in the final battle. However inadvertently, he picked me. I have to do it. For everybody. For the people who've died fighting, for the people who've died for resisting, for the people who've died protecting. For my parents, for Sirius, for Dumbledore; for R.A.B, who really probably _is_ dead now; for the first Tom Riddle and Merope Gaunt, who never lived to know what a monster they had created without even knowing it; for the friends who've been here even despite my offers (or orders) to get out now or forever hold their peace.

I'll do what has to be done. Period.

…_The Sword of Time will pierce our skins_

…_It doesn't hurt when it begins_

…_But as it works its way on in_

…_The pain grows stronger, watch it grin_

…_For Suicide is painless_

…_It brings on many changes_

…_And I can take or leave it if I please._

I've heard before that "Time heals all wounds," but I think that some wounds get worse and worse with time. Like a cut that goes untended, gets infected, turns greenish and smells bad and eventually the entire limb just falls off. But I'd prefer that to the death of any more innocents. It'll be more comfortable.

Time. The hurt _does_ get a bit less as time goes by, but it still stings when I think about it. I think I'm more hurt by Sirius' death than I am about the death of my parents. After all, I didn't know them, but that doesn't stop me from being sad about it. They are, after all, my parents. And then I was completely devastated by Dumbledore dying, moreso than I was with Sirius, because Dumbledore was the last person in the world that I had. The last person in the world who could protect me. Now I'm just sitting here, helpless with my tail hanging out. So to speak.

The better you know somebody, the more it hurts when they're gone. I won't even let myself even vaguely consider how I'd feel were Ron or Hermione to… you know. I used to think that they were immortal, that they would never go anywhere, just like I thought that Dumbledore was immortal, that he would never leave us. But the reality of it sinks in, now. If he can die, anybody can die. And _anybody_ includes… everybody. What a chilling thought.

Would I care if Voldemort found the Dursleys? Would I care if I came to good ol' Number Four Privet Drive and found the door ripped off the hinges and blood spattered all over the walls, sofas torn, and wood and glass smashed to pieces and bodies laying hopelessly mangled by some horrific death with the Dark Mark over the doorway?

It's almost painful for me to admit that… I think I'd care. Even though I don't have any loyalty or affections for the Dursleys at all, even though they were outright terrible to me my entire life, even though they tried every year to keep me from coming back to Hogwarts… I think I would feel bad about it. They have no connections or cares about the wizarding world, they have nothing more to do with me other than the fact that I happen to take up a room in their house for two months out of the year. For them to die a gruesome death because of me… nobody is so heartless as to feel no remorse at all.

But if the Dursleys went to cross the road one day and were simultaneously hit by a double-decker bus or a lorry carrying bowling balls… I probably wouldn't mind a bit.

…_A brave man once requested me_

…_To answer questions that are key_

…_Is it to be or not to be?_

…_And I replied, "Oh, why as me?"_

So in a time of trouble, in a time when there are no such thing as heroes, when everybody has pretty much lost all hope, they turn to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter is bound to have the answers. And I don't know that I'm _not_ capable of finding the answers, so who am I to tell them to find another hero? They all need to look somewhere. And I'm all what's left. A grim thought, when you think about it. The fate of the Good rests in the hands of a sixteen-year-old boy.

God and Merlin, help us all. But mostly me. I think I might need all the help I can get.

There are no more answers here for me. Hogwarts can't do much more, especially if it closes. So I have to look for answers somewhere else. Everywhere else. I'll follow every lead, every clue, every gut intuition or little inkling. I can't afford to let a possibility go to waste. I've found with Voldemort that the smallest things can blow up in your face, and become much bigger things.

But also something that seems mostly impossible could turn out to be easier to do than I thought. Somehow I'm not intimidated by Voldemort himself anymore. When he's stripped down and examined piece by piece, he's just a person. A scary, powerful, evil person, but a person nonetheless. Once the little bits of him are gone, there won't be much left.

I'm still intimidated by what he could do while I'm out searching for and destroying seemingly docile items. I can imagine how it would look to some passerby: a wizard unleashing a powerful explosion of a spell on a goblet, or an old shoe perhaps. But anything could happen between now and then. The world could detonate and explode, for all I know. I _don't_ know what could happen. All I can do is expect the worst and be prepared.

Maybe having friends with me while I'm off nearly getting killed won't be so bad after all. I'm sure they'll help me forget, every once in a while. Help me forget that the fate of the world rests on my shoulders, maybe make me laugh. Probably Ron will stock up on gags from Fred and George. Even Hermione might recognize a need for silliness.

Until then, I'll expect the worst and hope for the best and cross my fingers and see what happens. That's all I can do.

"Harry?"

I have to jolt myself out of my stupor and look around because I've completely forgotten where I am. My mind is a very disorienting place to be. I recognize my room, uncharacteristically cheerful for the thoughts I've been having. The deep red Gryffindor curtains are wide open and there's sunlight pouring in, one window is open and I can hear birds and smell fresh grass and warm sun. But the other beds are all made and abandoned, there are no trunks or books or stray socks anywhere. The room is completely empty, save for me and my trunk and Hedwig in her cage, who desperately wants to get out.

Ron is in the doorway. From the look of it, he's been there a while, waiting for me to wake up. Had it been any other circumstance and he might tease me for being so out of it, but now is not a time for jokes. Not right now.

"Are you ready to go?" He asks, rather slowly. I just stand up and grab my trunk and he takes that as a "yes" and starts walking out of the room. We're among the last to leave, apart from the staff. I'm not in any hurry. This is the last time I'll ever see this place. The Common Room, the portrait of the Fat Lady, who's appropriately changed her clothes to black and doesn't say anything as I leave through the hole. The staircases even seem sedate, as if they, too recognize the need to be respectful, just for a while. The ghosts just float sort of absently around, bumping into one another and floating through people's heads without apologizing. Peeves is nowhere to be found.

There's a ministry car out front. I wish I could take the train back. When I took it to the school in August, I never dreamt that I'd never ride it again.

The school looks different. Somehow it looks a lot sadder but more beautiful than it ever has before. This was my home for so long. No longer. I don't know if I even have a home. Do I? I don't know. I don't think I'll be using one for a while.

Ron and Hermione and the entire Weasley family have already gotten into the cars. Even despite everything, I can't help but smile. The Dursleys are _not_ going to be happy when they find out they'll be playing host to _three_ wizards this summer. That thought alone makes me feel better.

But not for long. Sad thoughts invade again. Just as I suspected, Lord Voldemort is first in my mind, first in the minds of every witch and wizard that doesn't live in a cave or something. But Voldemort will get his, eventually. Everything in its time, as Dumbledore would probably have said. He had never been one to rush things. So I won't rush it either. Even though I'd like to get this all over with as soon as possible. I'll have to wait. It doesn't bother me though. After all that's happened, I imagine very _little _will bother me anymore.

The cars pull away and we're all in silence. We're in the middle, guarded front and back by other ministry cars. Nobody is saying anything. We're all lost in our own thoughts. My thoughts are mostly quiet now, though. They've got a lot to say but they know a moment of silence when they see it.

I won't look out the windows, won't watch the castle disappear. Somehow I feel like if I don't see it disappear, then it won't be so hard to leave it behind. I just keep starting at my lap. Maybe I'll stare at it all the way back to London. Or are they taking us all the way to the Dursley's house? I'm sure Uncle Vernon would love to have half a dozen cars parked in the drive and on the road and possibly also in the garden.

When I finally _do_ look out the window, I see manmade roads. We're in Muggle territory now, but I'm still thinking wizard thoughts. But I'm entitled. I'm a wizard, and I have things I need to do.

…_Cause Suicide is painless_

…_It brings on many changes_

…_And I can take or leave it if I please._

…_And you can do the same thing, if you please._

0…0…0…0…0

I don't usually write this solemn. Even in solemn writing I still end up writing something silly. Oh well. I don't imagine many people will read a once-in-a-lifetime oneshot, but maybe those brave and adventurous few who venture here enjoyed it. It was certainly a change for me to write it. Feedback is always welcome—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Since this is the only place I can discuss it, I might want to ask if anybody else thinks that Sirius' little brother took the locket Horcrux? I immediately thought of "Black" when I saw the initials R.A.B, and Regulus fits two out of the three initials, and we never actually know what his middle name is. Or maybe everybody else here already thought of it, and I'm just stating old news. I dunno. Just thought I'd share it.


End file.
